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Hinting at the possible birth of an intriguing rivalry, a senior Aston Martin insider describes the new DB7 coupe as “quick as a Ferrari, but easier to drive.” His fellow directors, all recently installed by parent-company Ford, openly admit their desire to develop Aston Martin Lagonda Ltd. into the British equivalent of the Maranello marque: a maker of coveted sports and GT cars that are seductively stylish, exhilaratingly fast, irresistible to 2000 or more buyers per year, and-this will be a novelty for AML-make money. For a company that sold only 135 cars worldwide last year, and which lost a fistful of dollars on each, we’re talking a recovery of biblical proportion.

The late Sir David Brown, the “DB” behind those first Aston coupes of the ’50s and ’60s (among the finest cars of their time) and owner of the firm from 1947-72, enjoyed telling a personal anecdote: When a friend once asked if he could buy an Aston “at cost,” Brown replied along the lines of, “Why, of course. That shouldn’t be any more than a thousand pounds or so above sticker.” Sir David, who was a multimillionaire when he bought the then-separate Aston Martin and Lagonda companies, eventually was obliged by his bankers to sell them. The marques have been funded by all manner of entrepreneurs, differing in their resources, but sharing a common weakness: a passion for cars, rather than a sound business sense, that kept AML alive.

Ford Motor Company, which bought the automaker in 1987, however, is no sugar daddy: If the DB7 and the Lagonda Vignale V-12 luxury sedan (which will follow in a couple of years) don’t push sales to at least 1200 units or more annually, the men in gray suits will abandon Aston. That fact makes the DB7 potentially the most important model in the com-pany’s 80-year history.

Against that stark reality, there are two strong reasons for optimism.

First, Aston Martin is one of the automotive industry’s most romantic nameplates-evocative of traditional English craftsmanship and aristocratic indulgence, of Carroll Shelby and Stirling Moss balancing high-speed four-wheel-drifts at Goodwood circuit, of heroic and victorious battle against Jaguar and Ferrari at Le Mans, of Sean Connery as a spy licensed to kill careening about and ejecting unwanted front-seat passengers. With Ford of Europe’s renowned marketing expertise, and with some of its experts now transplanted at Aston, the company may at last effectively capitalize on this glamorous heritage.

Second? A two-day dash through the southern counties of England and a few high-speed laps of (How did you guess?) Goodwood leave us no doubt: The DB7 is the most capable Aston Martin in decades, and probably the best ever.

Unlike the giant $240,000 Virage, Volante, and Vantage models, which for the moment remain in production, the $120,000 DB7 doesn’t presume its buyers will tolerate trailing-edge technologies or exorbitantly expensive production methods in the name of hand-built exclusivity. The anticipated 700 DB7 buyers each year (one third of them American) are expected to demand everyday reliability and driveability that matches the industry’s highest standards. As the engineer who previously oversaw development of Ford’s Contour/Mondeo world car, AML Chief Executive John Oldfield has a far better idea of what those standards are and how to attain them than any of his predecessors.

Unlike previous Astons, careful consideration of production ease and efficiency went into the DB7 design. Whereas the V-cars each take 1400 hours to build (and took 2000 before Ford intervened), final assembly of the DB7 requires only 180 hours. (Even this figure would send big-corporation bean-counters into fits of apoplexy: A Ford Taurus, for example, requires 21 hours.) The DB7’s body-mostly steel, with the exception of composite panels for the hood, trunklid, front fenders, sills, and bumpers-is made in Coventry by Motor Panels and painted in Crewe by Rolls-Royce. The engine, a 3.2-liter straight-six that thumps out as much power and torque as Aston’s 5.4-liter V-8, makes use of Jaguar components and is built by Tom Walkinshaw Engineering. Final assembly takes place in the small factory at Bloxham in rural Oxfordshire, which formerly turned out JaguarSport’s XJ220.

Bloxham is a purpose-built, brightly lit, freshly ventilated, sparsely furnished, gleamingly clean “light industrial unit,” to use the modern auto-racing idiom. It not only brings the capability of unprecedented production levels to Aston Martin, but symbolizes a fresh start. By comparison, the darker, dirtier, overcrowded Newport Pagnell workshops in which the V-cars are laboriously hand-assembled seem relics of a past era.

Ford’s $80-million investment in the DB7 also included “the most ambitious and exhaustive test program ever undertaken by Aston Martin,” according to Oldfield. In temperatures ranging from plus to minus 40 degrees Celsius, 30 prototypes hammered through half a million miles, simulating everything from the stop-and-start crawl of the city to the flat-out charge of the autobahn. From the first sketch to the first delivery (made in Britain in October ’94, with U.S. sales set for early ’96), the project involved 170 engineers, many boasting Ford and Jaguar backgrounds.

The car itself also possesses a Jaguar background, tempting cynics to use the label “Jag in drag.” Not surprisingly, this puts Aston executives on the defensive. True, the DB7 is based on the XJS platform-but it’s much modified, and only used between front and rear bulkheads. True, the DB7’s powerplant has origins in the AJ6 block of the XJS and XJ6-but this too is extensively altered and derives a character all its own from an Eaton supercharger. True, the DB7’s shape is reminiscent of the Jag F-type and XX projects aborted a few years ago-but it’s more strongly evocative of the classic DB series. And true, it’s financially expedient for Ford cousins Aston and Jaguar to share the development and manufacture of components-but this benefits the customer beyond containing costs: The DB7 uniquely combines the graceful good looks and driver appeal of Astons of old with the supple ride and refined propulsion of Jaguars new. To say that the DB7 drives partly like an Aston and partly like a Jag is also to say it deserves to succeed-which it does.

The DB7 is almost exactly the same length as its 25-year-old predecessor, the DB6, but lower and wider in the modern fashion. Panel gaps are wider than any you’ll see on a modern mass-produced automobile, but how many mass producers offer such an alluring body? Chief designer Ian Callum (formerly senior designer of Ford’s Ghia studio in Turin, Italy) has revived those oval headlamps that stare out like soulful eyes; the central hood bulge, suggestive of power; and that trademark front grille, with upper edges curving downward at the corners like the curled lip of a snarling animal. With its tail higher than its nose, the car’s stance is tensed and muscular, like a sprinter impatient to burst out of the blocks.

Style has taken precedence over packaging, so neither the trunk nor rear seats are very spacious; but where it really matters, the DB7 is sufficiently accommodating. There’s good leg- and headroom up front (even though the seats aren’t adjustable for height), and it’s easy to reach the classic sports-car driving position, legs and arms outstretched, backside close to the ground, the windshield base at neck height, the view ahead spread before a long and curving prow. Perfectionists will note that the pedals are slightly offset, that the steering wheel obscures the outer edges of the secondary instruments and offers no reach adjustment (and effects an overly large turning circle), that the fiddly stereo buttons are too close to the shift lever, that the cruise-control switches are inconveniently located on the central console, and that the glovebox is so small the owner’s manual must reside in the trunk. But these details are easily forgiven the moment you settle into the generously bolstered captain’s seat, absorb the sumptuous country-club atmosphere, and inhale the unmistakable smell of money. The stitched and pleated leather upholstery, the lustrous burled walnut inserts, the Wilton carpet, the strength, range, and clarity of the six-speaker cassette/CD system all contrive to make you feel rich, feel important, and feel good.

The all-aluminum engine is so quiet at tickover, the busy machinations of its twin chain-driven cams and 24 valves so well insulated from the cabin, that you find yourself glancing at the tachometer to doublecheck that it’s still running. The big, black speedometer reads to 170 mph-and the long, gray needle will sweep around it nearly all the way. Shunning the trend toward electronic speed limiters, Aston boasts a top speed “in excess of 160 mph” and a 0-60-mph time of 5.8 seconds. From standstill to 100 mph requires a whisker more than 14 seconds and precisely a quarter mile. The Porsche 928 GTS is fractionally quicker, and the Jaguar XJS V-12 and Mercedes-Benz S500 Coupe are slightly slower.

From a solidly built carriage weighing nearly 4000 pounds, these figures are impressive. More so because its powerplant displaces merely 3.2 liters. But for every liter, there’s a bit over 103 horsepower: 335 in all, at 5500 rpm. This is made possible by the intercooled supercharger, which blows to 14 psi maximum pressure the moment you step heavily on the gas. Driven by a belt off of the crankshaft, rather than exhaust gases, there’s none of the hesitation or surge of a turbocharger, no perceptible sign of its intervention.

Apart, that is, from the noise. No other road-car engine, not even the rapacious supercharged Jag XJR sports sedan, sounds quite like this. At very low revs, the Aston powerplant could easily be mistaken for a larger-displacement unit, burbling with depth and confidence; from 2000 to 3000 rpm, it calls to mind the smoothness of a Wankel rotary engine (but with V-8 torque), from the mid-ranges upward, hard acceleration unleashes a banshee howl and the engine sounds as if it has inhaled air so deeply and greedily that its lungs have swollen to almost bursting-and then it b-l-o-w-s it out in one great, whistling gush.

The supercharged six doesn’t soar through the rev range quite so briskly as a rotary turbo, but by reciprocating piston engine standards, it works willingly and with smoothness. Throttle response is unfailingly obedient, acceleration unfalteringly fluid. Squeeze the throttle pedal gently, and the powerplant also can be quite unobtrusive. At 100 mph in fifth gear, the straight-six is barely beyond the midpoint of its operating range, purring contentedly at 3500 rpm. Indeed, the engine’s so quiet at these cruising speeds that it’s masked by the background hiss of the fat tires and the rudely persistent rustle of wind around the upper edges of the frameless door windows.

After the novelty of the whooshing acceleration has passed and the high-rpm whine of the supercharger has become tiresome, it seems preferable to keep the engine simmering below about 4000 rpm. This is just fine, because the torque, which flourishes to 360 pound-feet at 3000 rpm, is always on hand to help.

This same laid-back approach applies to gearshifting. The short, fat leather-gated lever isn’t particularly light to the touch or explicit in feel, and reveals a conspicuous gap between ratios three and four, but the powerplant’s flexibility makes this largely irrelevant. Even in Britain, where enthusiasts think stick-stirring is an essential part of the fun, 40 percent of DB7s have been ordered with four-speed automatics.

The steering, like the gearshift, is a little numb, in the manner of a GT car rather than a sportster. At slow speeds, the wheel feels odd at first because of its unusually strong self-centering, but at a gallop, it helps reestablish the desired course when the front wheels are led slightly adrift by bumps. Were it not for this subtle front-end reaction to surface imperfections, you might not notice them at all: The Jaguar-type double-wishbone suspension absorbs all but the worst ruts, keeps a reasonably tight control on lateral body movement (although there can be some very perceptible weight shifts from nose to tail), and unlike its big V-8 sisters, reports almost none of its Herculean efforts to the cabin.

For European tastes, the DB7’s ride inclines perhaps a little too much toward softness, which means it’s probably just right for the U.S. Refer to almost any other aspect of this not-just-pretty automobile, and the same sentiment applies. For lovers of British secret-agent cars and fiery race machines of the past, the Aston Martin legend endures.